Coming Home
by lizstomania
Summary: Harry thinks about his relationship with Draco in this companion to 'Winter Night.' Some language. I don't own these characters.


Every part of me aches for him. I'm gone so often now that it gets harder and harder for me to remember things. I can remember the feel of his hair, but not the color it turns when the lights are off, but there's sunlight streaming through the windows. I can picture him in my head, but not how big his feet are or where he keeps his hands when we're standing up, talking. I can hear his voice but can no longer recall the faces he makes when he speaks. I'm forgetting him, bit by bit, and I hate myself for it.

I leave because I have to. Not for anyone else, but for me. I miss him every minute, though. Every second of all of this undercover work, I miss him. When I'm sleeping in caves, I imagine he's next to me, glaring at me about having to sleep on a rocky floor. Ron says I think about him too much and that I can't keep doing that, it's making me slow and slow could get us killed. I have no idea how he manages to keep Hermione out of his thoughts. It must be easier when you've been together longer.

Because we've only been together for a year, we don't have years at Hogwarts backing us up, validating the way we feel about each other. Shit, up until two years ago, I would have sworn I was going to marry Ginny. But as time went on the dreams changed from ginger to blonde, from soft curves to hard planes and I realized that it wasn't Ginny I wanted, but someone more dangerous and therefore infinitely more exciting. I guess exciting wasn't exactly the best choice. I picked the _exciting _career and now I'm spending weeks away from the only place I want to be.

It's so hot here, I'm so exhausted and I can't help but think of him, alone in that freezing apartment, with only George and the wireless to keep him company. I look at my watch, and while I'm in Africa right now, it's still on England time and it's currently 4:27am there. I can practically _see_ him, shivering under a pile of blankets, still completely incapable of turning on the heater. I'm sweating and he's shaking from cold. I'm the worst boyfriend. When I get home, I'm going to stand him in front of that fucking thermostat and _make_ him learn how to turn it on.

But for now, I'm stuck in line, waiting to turn in my paperwork so I can get off this godforsaken strip of broiled desert and back to my rainy, cold homeland. Draco is under the impression that what I do is highly dangerous. I like that he worries or I'd set him straight: when I'm gone, I'm actually only in the field a third of the time. The rest of my absence is spent filling out paperwork and undergoing preparedness tests to make sure I haven't lost my edge. I have bruises all over my legs from sleeping outside on the rocky ground and I'm sure he thinks they're from these great battles.

Merlin, must this take so long? We're wizards, for fuck's sake. Can't we use magic to speed this along? I'm third from the front, and the line is moving so glacially, I'm afraid it'll be summer by the time I actually get home. I can't handle this anymore. I hate being away from him. He swears like he relies on me, like he's the needy one in our relationship. But what he cannot understand, what he's never been able to grasp is that yes, he may need me, to eat, to have a place to live, but I _need_ him, to _breathe_, to have a _reason_ for living. Being away from him is a constant pain. I am definitely making this my last long-distance raid. The Ministry can get someone else to do their grunt work. I need to be home.

Finally, I'm up. I practically throw my report at the bored-looking Wizard running the counter. Even though his skin and eyes are dark, something in his slightly pointed chin reminds me of Draco and I'm even more eager than before to get out of this place and home. He stamps some pages, rifles through others and without a word, directs me to the Portkey station. I ignore this and simply Apparate home. It's a long way, but I'm impatient and if I used a Portkey, I'd have to deal with even more protocol on the England end. I need Draco now, it's almost as though the promise of him has awoken something in my cells that screams for him and if I wait any longer, I may fall apart.

Merlin, it's freezing in here. Sighing, I turn the heater on. As it clicks on and begins to warm the flat, I can feel him relax a little. I smile, knowing he's awake and that he'll be 'sleeping' when I go up there. He pretends for some reason, but I never know what to say about it. I don't really understand it, but just being in the same house as him has eased my mind. I drop my pack on the floor by the fireplace, knowing that it'll be full of dirt and Draco would kill me if I brought it into the bedroom. I head towards the bathroom, desperately needing to wash my face and hands. I showered before I left Somalia, but somehow my hands and face don't ever stay clean.

I come into the bedroom, pulling off my shirt and the smell of him engulfs me. It's difficult to place and almost impossible to remember when I've been gone for any amount of time, but it's completely _Draco _and it's perhaps my favorite thing in the entire world. I take a deep, deep breath and I notice that he's watching me out of the corner of one eye. I can't help myself, I drop my dirty shirt on the floor and head to the dresser, barely containing a grin. I hear a slight intake of breath as I turn away and I remember that my back and legs are covered in bruises and bites. I like how he looks at me, studies me when I can't see him.

I've avoided looking at him too much thus far because I know that when I do, I'll lose my basic motor functions and it's best to be close to a soft surface when that happens. And sure enough, when I turn and look at him, his eyes fully closed and his hair falling into his face, his beauty hits me through the gut like a train and I sort of forget how to breathe. Everything about him is perfect to me and sometimes I marvel at my luck. How did this beautiful, magnificent, marvelous person end up with _me_? No matter what he thinks, I will _always_ be the one who will never deserve the other. It will always be me who is the lucky one. I may be a 'hero', but he will always be the prize. I take a moment to just marvel at that fact. Of all the people in the world, the six billion different souls that exist, his found mine and mine found his and how could I ever leave him? How could I _continue_ to leave him? I can't anymore. I know that I can't take any more long jobs. I can feel it, feel the pain and the worry emanating from him in giant waves. I can't hurt him any longer.

I climb into bed, untwisting the quilt Molly gave us when we moved in. From the first little bit of contact between us, my arm against his back, I begin to feel finally truly at home. I slide over, eager now to touch as much of him as I possibly can, but knowing that I am far too exhausted for anything more than sleeping. We both sigh as more of my skin touches his and I wrap one arm around him, sliding the other under his head to cradle it as I play with his hair. Once again, I'm struck by how beautiful he is, all silver in the early dawn. His hair glides through my fingers like water and his arms come up to wind through mine. We inhale deeply together, just breathing in the presence of each other, filling our lungs and bodies with the essence of the other. His shoulders rise as he breathes in again, steeling himself for conversation, and suddenly I know what he's going to say and I know that he doesn't need to.

I whisper in his ear that I love him and I feel the tension drain out of him. I know that he worries about that, for some unfathomable he seems to think that there's a possibility that I'll forget how to love him. And I know that he wants me to stay home so I say it, I say the words I know he wants to hear, 'I love you, and I never want to leave again' before I drift into the most peaceful sleep I've had in a long, long time.


End file.
